Reasons
by InkyManipulation
Summary: Bit and pieces of Baron. Creation-Love-Adventure-Life. now a story.
1. Origin

**Greenwich, New York City **

**May 1927**

Skilled, ebony hands were carefully giving a block of cedar wood the beginnings of a shape and figure. Though a small window, bright sunlight streamed into the room, giving it a cheerful air as it warmed the craftsman's back. The gentle, soothing scent of wood filled the air, clinging protectively to everything in the small workspace.

A man quietly hummed a catchy, jazzy tune, the drawn out scraping of his carving knife against the wood the only other sound to be heard in the room; besides the occasional absentminded tap of his foot to the jazz in his head. Wood shavings fell steadily to the floor in long, twisted curls, adding to the small pile that had begun to form on the already messy floor.

Mille wouldn't be happy about that, the man thought absentmindly.

A polka-doted handkerchief came up to wipe the sweat from the black man's brow. He leaned back in his chair, carefully placing the carving knife on his work table, and examined what he had accomplished so far. He gave a quite smile, pleased with what he saw.

A face had started to reveal itself from the wood and something had prompted him to start on a pair of pointed cat ears. Maybe it had been the partially carved eyes… Though they were not done yet, what was there seemed to watch him with a lazy intensity. The rest of the figurine was just a rough outline still, but he had a feeling that this carving was going to be one of those rare few that told him what to do.

The man smiled, rubbing one of the figurine's ears contemplatively and delighting in the rough-smooth feel of the unfinished wood beneath his hands. He had always loved the start of a project best, loved the quiet sense of potential that hung in the air, just waiting to be shaped into something amazing. And he could tell that this one was going to be something special.

"Just you an' me, eh? Yous gonna be a gent, I can tell." He placed it gently on the table as he searched for the correct blade for the next part of the process. "Well, don't you worry yeself. Old Josiah will see to it that you get you need."

He quickly found what he was looking for and set back to work, not noticing the freshly carved lips had somehow curved into a distinctly feline smile.

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Josiah carefully molded the light amber velveteen to the catlike figurine, tugging it a little here, smoothing it a little there. It was a race to get it just right before it settled permanently into place. But Josiah was good at races.

The actual carving had been finished for days, and currently, Josiah was working on the small details that would make it so that statuette was special and unique. Though, personally, he doubted that it needed much help. The was just something about it that made it feel as if it were alive. It was something about the eyes, really… They seemed as if they were watching him, to make he got everything right.

He had given it green-tinted glass eyes the day before, which suited the figurine very well. Though, during the process of setting the glass, he had accidentally scratched it; creating a small flaw that made the figurine's eyes flash a brilliant gold-green whenever they caught the light. It made for a very striking look.

An'… there!" Josiah grinned triumphantly as the last of the velveteen was worked into place. He looked the figurine over appreciatively and gave a low whistle, " After we get you into that fancy suit of yours, you gonna be a lady-killer, you is." Gently, Josiah placed the figurine on the table, mindful of the still not quite dry velveteen.

Bracing himself against the table, Josiah pulled himself to his feet with a grunt, stiff from sitting for too long in one spot. He winced as his bum leg gave a sharp, searing throb, nearly collapsing beneath the weight he was asking it to hold. Once he was sure that he wasn't going to fall on his face, Josiah let go of the worktable, and limped the short distance to the messy desk and cupboards where he kept the tools of his trade.

He started to pull open drawers and rummage through them, searching for where he had put the half-cat's outfit. Absently, he made a note to himself to organize them later. Millie had messed them up again. With a soft, "aha!", Josiah pulled out a brown paper package tied up with twine; across which was written, 'For Humbert.', in a messy scrawl. Josiah shook his head bemusedly as he removed a fine gray suit and top hat from the paper. For some reason, Millie was convinced that the figurine should be named Humbert, which he thought to be a rather silly name. Still, if it made her happy…

Smiling, he limped back to his chair, sinking into it with a sigh of relief. As he began to carefully dress the figurine, Josiah remarked conversationally, "Ma daughter, Mille, made these, ya know." He gave a gentle, proud smile at the thought, as he worked the figurine's stiff tail into its formal gray trousers. "I'm blessed ta have her. Could never do anything near so fine as this suit of yours, elsewise. I never been any good with a needle and thread."

He gave a rueful chuckle as he slipped the statuette's shirt on, "Ma wife was a wonder at it, though. Everyone alway wanted her dresses, alway swore they was the prettiest things they ever seen…" Shirt in place, Josiah then gently eased on the figurine's suit coat. He gave it a sad smile, "They still does, sometimes."

He fussed with a few final touches and then placed the top hat jauntily between the cat gentleman's ears. Josiah sat back to admire his handiwork and then frowned. Something wasn't quite right, it was missing something. And it was important, too…

His eyes flickered about the room, looking for inspiration until they landed on his cane, leaning against the table. "That's it! You needs a cane!" He grabbed a piece of leftover wood and quickly shaped it into the needed item; which he then placed gently into one of the cat doll's hands. Josiah gave a contented sigh and leaned back in his chair, admiring the result of all his hard work. It sure was a fine piece, why it near looked like it could come to life…

"You got to be the best work I've ever done." He smiled proudly, then frowned a little, stroking his beard, "Means I've gotta name you something good… How 'bout Baron?" The figurine's eyes seemed to brighten.

Josiah nodded to himself, smiling, "Yeah… Baron Humbert von Gikkingen. It fits, somehow."

Imperceptibly, the newly christened Baron nodded his agreement.


	2. Hope and Despair

An alley in New York City

**An alley in New York City**

**October 1933 **

Baron limped down a dingy alleyway, leaning heavily on his cane for some much needed support. His fine gray silk suit, normally so well cared for, was dirty and slightly torn. His face was covered in alley dirt and his right eye was slightly swollen; while one of his ears was badly torn. It was bleeding sluggishly. And it wouldn't take a doctor to notice that one of his legs was bent and twisted at an odd, extremely painful looking angle.

Things had not been well for Baron Humbert von Gikkingen as of late. Indeed, they had not been well since his maker, Josiah, had passed on two years earlier, leaving him to the cold mercies of a Depressed New York City. 

Despite the fact that Baron knew Josiah had not meant for this to happen and indeed, would have horrified by Baron's state if he were still alive, Baron found that he could not help resenting him. Just a little. For if Josiah were still alive, he would have a roof over his head. If Josiah were still alive, he wouldn't be grievously injured and limping down a filthy alley. If Josiah were still alive, he would still have someone who gave a damn about whether he was fine or not. If Josiah…

Baron shook his head at himself and snapped, "Enough of this! I cannot blame Josiah for the way things worked out. He was a good man and he did his best for me." 

And this was true. From the day Josiah had learnt that the figurine he'd crafted was alive, he had treated Baron like the son he'd never had. The black man had taught Baron everything he knew, from whistling and woodcraft, to the fine art of widower cooking. Which really wasn't all that different from bachelor cooking, except you had fond memories of how much better your wife's had been. Josiah had even gone so far as to instill in him a love of jazz and blues, though that had taken a while. Life with the old man had been wonderful, but then, the Great Crash had come, and ruined everything.

Baron hissed at the memory, gloved hands clenching his cane tighter in desperation and the determination to live another day. For Josiah, if nothing else. Someone had to remember that wonderfully kind and sweet old man. If Baron died then there would be no one to do so and _that_ was just unthinkable. So he just kept on limping along, for Josiah's sake, because if there was one person who deserved to be remembered, it was him.

And though he was battered, bruised and had a broken leg, Baron just kept telling himself to keep on going; and that things could only get better when they were this bad. As he was about turn the corner that would take him out of the alley, Baron suddenly remembered something that Josiah would quote at him whenever he complained that things were too hard. He could practically hear him now,

" 'Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.  ', boy." He'd scold, wagging a finger and frowning. " 'It's had tacks in it,  And splinters,  And boards torn up,  And places with no carpet on the floor -- Bare." Josiah would then go on to say the rest of the poem and when he'd finished, he'd shake his head and tell Baron to try again at whatever had frustrated him.

Baron nodded firmly to himself, wincing as his bad leg brushed up against a bit of rubbish. He then gave his usual response to the phantom Josiah's scolding. "Alright, Josiah, Langston. I'll give it another try."

He turned the corner.

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A.N: Credit for the poem goes to good ol' Langston Hughes. After all, he wrote it. (grins) Also, sorry 'bout the double NYC thing, ffnet is acting funky. Again.


	3. Louise

**New York City**

**The Saint's Rest**

**November 1933**

"How is he, Alfred?" A light gray half-cat asked, poking her head through the doorway.

The human Creation looked up from his patient and shook his head, "It aint' lookn' good, Lu." He sighed, pressing a fresh cool cloth against the amber cat doll's brow. "There's an infection in that leg of 'is, 'is fevers near off the charts…" Al trialed off, not wanting to continue with the depressing list.

Louise frowned worriedly as she entered the room, taking a seat in the chair on the other side of the bed. "In short, the only reason he's still alive is because he's a Creation, isn't it?"

Al agitatedly ran a hand through his dark hair, fiddling with the sleeves of his zoot suit. "Unfortunately, yeah."

"Is there anything else we can do for him?" She asked, gently stroking the cat Creation's ear as he shivered with fever dreams. He was muttering incoherently and, although, she could sometimes make out words that sounded like 'crystal' or 'keep on', Louise couldn't be sure that it wasn't her imagination.

Alfred sighed, shaking his head again, "All we can do is what we're doing now. Cool cloths, herbal teas and the like. If I was better at this maybe I could do something. But as it is…" He paused for a long moment and then said reluctantly, "Whether the guy lives or dies is up to 'im and how much he likes it here."

"I was afraid you'd say that, Al." Louise looked sadly at the Creation on the bed. They didn't even know his name.

"God knows I hate having to." He frowned and then vehemently muttered, "And I _hate_ losing patients."

Louise was about to agree when she felt the patient's ear stiffen to lifeless wood under her hand and then revert to living flesh. She stifled a horrified gasp. "Al!"

"I know."

"We have to do something!" Louise said desperately, gently smoothing the half-cat's sweat soaked brow as she replaced the warm cloth with a cold one.

"I've done everything I know how, Lu." He shrugged, discouraged, "Hell, I think it's been more 'im then me keeping 'im alive these last few days."

Louise ran a quick check, searching for anything that had reverted to wood. Her search revealed that three fingers, part of his unbroken leg and most of his tail were lost. Louise's hands clenched into fists, her expression furious as her tail whipped back and forth. "Why didn't you _tell_ me it had progressed this far?!" She hissed.

Al leaned back a little in his chair, slightly afraid; a furious Louise was never to be taken lightly. "I didn't want to worry you!"

"Fat lot of good that's doing him now, Al!" Louise scowled at him, agitatedly tugging her ear as she paced. This wasn't good at all. It was worse. When a Creation started to involuntarily revert to its original soulless state it meant that they were truly dying. And once the process started, there were few ways and even fewer people capable of stopping it.

Louise came to an abrupt halt. That was it! "Al, I know who can save him."

Alfred looked at her, startled. "Who could possibly…" He trailed off, realizing who she meant. "Oh no. _Hell_ no. We are not going to her!"

Louise stood her ground. "Oh yes we are." She pointed to the patient on the bed. "If you really want him to live we are going to Sophie. And that is final." And before Al could say anything else, she swept out the door. Shortly after, he heard the front door slam.

Alfred sighed as the teakettle whistled. "One things for sure, kid," He told the Creation on the bed, "you're gonna owe that hellcat big fer this one."

&

Louise paced back and forth across the parlor, her dress swishing in time with her steps. Al watched her as he absently drank his coffee, wincing whenever he heard a particularly pain filled moan from the patient's room.

"At the rate you're going, Lu, we're gonna havta replace the floor again." He offered quietly.

"It's do anyway."

"Guess you're right." They fell silent again, accompanied only by the rustling of Louise's dress and fall of her footsteps.


End file.
